The Alphabet Game
by blindhobos
Summary: One is L.S. One is L.A. But there are twenty four other Leviathan Experiments, witches that went wrong for some reason or another. These are their stories.
1. LB

_Experiment Name: Leviathan B_

_Gender: Male_

_Physical Analysis: Sandy hair. Blue eyes. No external abnormalities._

_Status: Terminated as of May 97_

_Additional Notes: Brain underdeveloped. Cause unknown._

_Overseer: N/A_

* * *

><p>Each of the artificial witches was 'born' at age five. They were released from their pods with basic knowledge in their system and several foreign memories in their heads. They, in essence, began as the same person.<p>

Although the many scientists on the project were quite dedicated to their respective lines of work, not a soul among them was willing to donate the five years of life it would have taken to instill proper thought patterns into the minds of their little ungodly creations. So they supplied the minds of the little witches with copies of a grafted child's brain. No one knew what had become of the child who had so kindly aided them. Perhaps he was dead now. Perhaps he was dead at the time of the donation.

When growing a child naturally, inside the womb, there are a number of things that can go wrong and ultimately harm the infant. This is even truer when growing artificially creating a human in a test tube. L.B. was one such case.

The witches were 'released' (the director dislikes the word released, because it suggests the experiments were captive to begin with) in groups of three or four; and L.B. happened to be one of the first removed from his chamber. While the other two in his group appeared to be functioning well, L.B. was a different story.

"Can you say cat?" one of the nurses kept repeating. The mystery kid who provided his memory was apparently very fond of cats, as suggested by the other two Leviathan Children's constant chanting of the word.

L.B. only stared blankly. "Can you say candy?" she tried again. Every child loved candy; surely there was a memory in there about the sugary treat. But L.B. did not even attempt to say candy or any of the other words she asked of him.

"Can you say anything; anything at all? How about you just nod your head, can you do that for me?"

L.B. could _not _and did not.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She was worried that there was something physically wrong with Experiment Leviathan B, so she concluded the doctor's presence was necessary. The doctor was found with his stethoscope pressed to the rib cage of one of the other witch children. He was commenting on how impressive the heartbeat was and while the five year old was thanking him humbly, his appreciation was obviously directed at his other colleagues.

"Dr. Munoz?" the scientist murmured hesitantly, "There appears to be an...issue...with Leviathan B."

Dr. Munoz was not at all amused by this information. He instantly abandoned whatever tasks he'd been absorbed in and marched straight to the room labeled 'Lab 7,' with the female scientist running to keep up with his stern pace.

It was concluded that L.B. had no brain activity. It was something of an oddity that he'd been able to function well enough to even make it to the examination room (he collapsed as soon as Dr. Muntoz pulled him into a standing position. He was currently writhing on the floor.)

"Well, isn't that a pity," Dr. Munoz sighed. He ordered that L.B. be given a lethal injection, which he was almost instantly. The spasms stopped.

L.B. was thrown out with the other hazardous chemicals.


	2. LC

_Experiment Name: Leviathan C_

_Gender: Female_

_Physical Analysis: Dirty blonde hair. Light brown eyes. No abnormalities._

_Status: Deceased-as of Febuary 98_

_Additional Notes: (this section is blank) _

_Overseer: Nurse Juanita Cruz_

* * *

><p>(Excert from Cruz's Status Log)<p>

I'm not going to lie...I don't like L.C. For one thing, I have a nine year old of my own who shares the same name and although the spelling is different-Elsie versus L.C.-it doesn't change anything. It still makes me sick every time I have to say, "L.C., let's get you ready so the doctor can take a sample." A sample of what? It never matters because all I can picture is my own little girl on the table as the doctor hovers over her with a scalpel.

Out of all the specimines in Group 7, L.C. is surely the most social. The other two don't appear to give their handlers any trouble, doing what is asked of them as obediantly as a dog. But this one escapes and is most often found in the presence of either L.K. or L.Q. The other nurses report she does not attempt to make verbal contact with either, rather sitting and observing in silence.

She also has an obsession with family not yet exhibited in any of the witches. L.C. is the only one among them to grasp the concept of what a mother and father are. And not only that, but she expresses a wish to have parents of her own, even if it is not by the natural means. She once asked me if I was her mother, to which I naturally replied no. A bit displeased, she inquired further, asking if I'd _like _to be. Again, I told her no.

Recently, she adopted L.Q. as her mother. Or perhaps it was L.Q. who adopted L.C., though I highly doubt this scenario. L.Q., although it is not my job to speculate on her, does appear to enjoy the friendship, even if she is a bit wary, and L.C. certainly clings to her peer, confiding in her the way she had once done with me. Interesting.

The relationship was deemed useless to the experiment and since then, a large effort has been made to keep L.C. from all contact aside from the essentials. She frequently uses the word 'lonely,' another phrase that no specimen has ever used before. I often find myself begged to let her go outside and play for, "a few minutes." I've explained that in doing so, I could potentially lose my job. I believe she can comprehend this, but I don't think she cares.

I don't know where she gained this knowledge-it was not information contained within the grafted mind-but shortly after her confinement, L.C. began her fascination with death. It started with innocent questions. What was it? Would it happen to me? Would it happen to her?

It's against the rules of the lab for me to share potentially dangerous items with the specimines, lest we risk their stability, but she has managed to uncover the truth through other mysterious means. "I want to die," she told me yesterday, "Because I can't play with my friends. I don't want to live."

She was getting a brain scan at the time, and the nonchalant statement terrified me. Again, I saw my own daughter sprawled there, about to have her head examined and welcoming her own demise. "We humans have found that's not an efficient way to deal with our problems." I responded coolly, never looking up from my clipboard.

"Death sounds easy, don't you think? From what I've heard it's like it's almost...magical."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but nothing is going to kill you here."

"Are you sure? Don't you know what happened to all the other Letters before me?" (Note: the Leviathan Children coined the term 'Letters' when refering to one another. We scientists rarely use this terminology.) I still have no idea who told her this. I can't imagine anyone had come close enough in the past few days to relay such information.

"Those," I told her, "Were circumstansial."

"If that helps you sleep at night."

I didn't sleep well that night, in fact. My daughter came into my room around midnight, frightened by a nightmare. I will not go into any more detail on my personal experiences, as they are not imparitive to the experiment.

No one goes into L.C.'s room in the morning. I am the only one to accompany her from the hours of 8 AM to 12 PM. From 10 at night to when I arrive the following day, she sleeps alone. That Febuary morning, as a result of mine and my daughter's restless night, I arrived at least a half an hour late for work. I found L.C. in her room. Hanging.

Sometime the previous night, L.C. had tied her bedsheets into a perfect noose. The opposite end was tangled in the light fixture; and from the position it was clear she had not died of a broken neck, as hanging was meant to do, but had instead suffocated.

I removed the body and straightened the room. Then I quit my job.


	3. LD

_Experiment Name:__ Leviathan D_

_Gender:__ Male_

_Physical Analysis:__ White blonde hair. Hazel eyes. No abnormalities._

_Status:__ Deceased-as of August 97_

_Additional Notes: __(this section is blank) _

_Overseer:__ Nurse Fernando Gutierrez_

* * *

><p><strong>(It's kind of like death...except when you're an experiment, nobody misses you.)<strong>

This was _not _how Maldonado wanted to spend his Friday. His shift ended at 3 o'clock on Friday, as opposed to the typical 6, and often had the rest of the weekend off. Granted, only if everything leading up to 3 o'clock on Friday ran smoothly, which it had not that day.

Five minutes before Maldonado could clock out, the meek Fernando Gutierrez approached him, fidgeting nervously, and announced his subject one L.D. to be missing. No, he hadn't called him L.D. (as every other _normal _employee did), he called the thing _Diaz_. Some time ago, he decided that the little test tube babies needed names, needed _love_.

Whatever. It didn't bother Maldonado any that Gutierrez named his property. It did, however, bother Maldonado that Gutierrez couldn't keep track of said property.

So here he was, nine o'clock at night, and still combing the facility with a handful of other good souls for a boy who really shouldn't have been that hard to find. They searched everywhere, and then searched everywhere again, but he was either not present or purposefully avoiding them. Like a game of hide and seek that Maldonado wasn't in the mood for.

"That him, Gutierrez?" one of the lab assistants indicated a vaguely humanoid shape lying visible through the wide windows. Gutierrez adjusted his glasses and noted that it _did _look like Diaz.

When they got closer, yep, Gutierrez identified the kid as Diaz, who was lying face down under a large tree and apparently taking a nap. The experiments are hardly ever allowed to venture outside of the lab-and if they ever happen to be, it is only under strict supervision.

It didn't take long for them to figure out that something was wrong, that they weren't just dealing with someone who went AWOL for a few hours then fell asleep. Diaz, upon flipping him over, was very clearly dead.

His body was darkened and blotchy-some shade between purple and black that wasn't really dechipherable in the dark-and missing chunks of his hair revealed the spots of singed scalp. Gutierrez promptly fainted and Maldonado had to lug him back inside, while the lightweights pitched in to carry a sixty pound corpse.

The medic's determined the kid died as a result of combustion (as if that wasn't obvious; anyone with eyes could see that.)

Maldonado instantly started asking if he could go home now that they'd successfully completed their mission. Sure, he felt a little bad that the billion dollar experiment had just kicked the bucket but, hey, after hours it wasn't his problem, right?

...And then a janitor rushed in and hysterically began shrieking at them. She was speaking such a frantic jumble of Spanglish that the only word that made sense in her speech was, "bathroom." Maldonado was among the group ordered to check it out. He checked the clock. Ten. There went his Friday night.

The other experiment, the girl one this time that was called L.V. or something, was dead as well. Just as the janitor had (apparently) said, she was in the bathroom. She had also suffered a fiery demise, if her appearance was any hint.

Everyone else instantly went into panic mode, shouting repeatedly, "Where's L.G.? Is he okay?" and because Maldonado liked the idea of keeping his job, he didn't make a fuss as he went along to locate the third and final experiment living in the facility. The kid was supposed to be in his room after his handler had locked him up and taken off to a funeral around noon. He wasn't there.

Maldonado assumed he was looking for a dead body, as did everyone else, but he was not prepared for what they found instead.

L.G. was sighted, very much alive, inside one of the examining rooms, by a pair of underlings. The telltale sign that something was wrong should have been their refusal to approach what couldn't have been more than a five year old boy, and their insistance that someone more 'experienced' apprehend him.

Everyone soon figured out why.

L.G. was crouched beneath one of the gurnies, walking back and forth with a foggy look in his eyes. "His powers!" someone said. The witch had been using his powers which, suprise suprise, enabled him to set anything on fire instantly.

Maldonado left for the night, though he returned bright and early the next morning, even though he had no need to be there. "I...felt like you could use an extra set of hands at a time like this," he claimed to his boss, though in reality, he was curious as to what had happened to little L.G.

The answer: nothing.

The rest of the scientists had waited until L.G.'s handler was able to return to work, because no one could get the kid to talk, and they couldn't determine anything until he did. The two were currently having a private conversation in a soundproof room.

When the handler emerged, he refused to speak in detail about what L.G. had said, but he confirmed the witch boy had confessed to the murders. No one, aside from that particular handler, would ever know L.G.'s motive.

Shortly thereafter, L. terminated in response to his actions.

**(It's kind of like capital punishment...except when you're an experiment, you don't get a trial.)**


End file.
